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Candy Man

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Editors Note: This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to personal experiences will be viewed as copyright infringment and are viable to get you killed.

His name was Maretti, as the legend goes. He no friends and he had no mother, as the legend goes. But despite what he did and who he was, he was an ordinary man, as legend often forgets.

Like any alien, his land was much different than ours. Alien is actually a bit offensive, considering his shithole of a planet would never be able to build a sophicated enough form of tranportation to be foreign. In it's own respect, it bore many simlilarities to any amount of food towards the back of a freezer; Completely frozen but with small traces of edibility if you had the courage to look.

He came from a little planet called Sedna. Sedna orbits a sun not unlike our own. To be honest, callling it the sun would probably help you invision it better.

Planet is most likely a bad description as well. I haven't seen the updated list of approved heavenly bodies, all of whom move in their respective circles despite what any two legged flesh sack says. (You may view the sky as a beautiful place, but the simple fact is that the solar system hates you. Don't be offended, they hate everyone else too.)

Sedna usually isn't as judgemental though. When one is as small as the Sahara Desert, with no triangular rocks to attract tourists, there is little room to talk.

But for a motherless boy with a fur coat and no friends interesting enough to mention, it was home.




I don't make jokes, nor do I write them down.
froad
 

Essence of Elegy

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Needs some work, I'd say. If you plan to continue this, at least put something in the story that hints an interesting story.

Regardless of that, I think it's a good start. Unique too.
 

Thor.

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The problem with this story is that you wrote a paragraph. And that you skipped around with your interest too much. Either write way more. Or write more about what you wrote.
 

Candy Man

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If I get the hold of this art thing, I might draw up Maretti for you.


Stab. That was miss.

Stab. Damnit. To be honest, he had never gotten the hang of this.

Stab. Finally. It was customary in the tribe to use the same weapon when hunting any kind of animal. Maretti just though it was lazy.

The weapon in question was about as tall as he was. It was carved from a giant thigh bone into a skinny double sided spear. The smooth points on it took up a lot of room, leaving only a foot wide intricated carved handle. The Orpin tribe had no consistant style of art, so every spear was easily matched with it's owner.

Maretti held his up, proud that he had finally speared a small fish. His freind, Jim, had gotten a least six by now.

Damn, I forgot about Jim. Jim isn't interesting, at least I don't think so, but he's so intrusive I feel he'd want me to mention him. But it's also very hard to put the following conversation into words without Jim there.

Don't worry, I'll kill Jim off if he stops being interesting.

"What do you think is out there?" Maretti looked out to the sea, beyond that were icebergs, and beyond them were the mountains. Once you crossed the mountains, you ended back up at the ice fields. Everyone knew that.

Not that anyone had ever crossed the mountains, or the ones behind the ice fields. They just assumed they were the same and left it at that.

"Icebergs, Jim. There's always just been icebergs." Jim perfectly killed another fish and shook his head. "Not there, there." He pointed his spear upwards. Maretti followed it with his eye, then kept going.

The sky. The sky was the one thing the Orpins rarely looked at. It was blue most of the time, but turned black the rest of the time. Blue and black made everyone think of drowning, so they left the sky alone.

The sun was setting now, so it almost completely black, contrasting against the white environment. But even in the light of the sunset, thousands upon thousand of stars were visible. "Why are so interested in the black Jim?" "Not the black, I wanna know what's in the black." "Stars, just stars."

"But what do you think the stars are Mary?" (On Sedna, Mary isn't a girl's name, but he still hated it) Maretti shrugged. "Holes." "Holes?" "Yeah, holes."

Jim leaned on his spear, a clever trick that only worked half on time. "Whadda you mean holes?"

Maretti waved his spear up at the black. "Holes that lead to somewhere else." "And where would that be?" "A different world, with more people. One that isn't so cold. One with trees and hills and plants."

Jim shook his head. "Do you even know what those things are?" Maretti sighed. He'd done it again. He'd made a list of things that don't exist, he'd have so sleep outside the hut again. "And this other world, do you think that's were that came from?" Jim pointed with his spear, indicating a pair of orange ski goggles resting on Maretti's forehead.

Maretti fiddled with them. He'd always had the goggles, ever since he could remember. "Frankly, yes I do."

Jim pocketed his fish and put his spear on his shoulder. "Are you ever going to sleep inside?"

Maretti sighed, he knew that there was something very wrong about him being here.
 
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Essence of Elegy

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Well, now we're getting somewhere. And it has potential to a certain degree. Oh and check your spelling.
 

Candy Man

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I'm bored, so it's time to start again.

Maretti sat outside his hut and stargazed for the first time in his life. He had been forced to sleep outside of his hut once again.

Since he had shown up seven years ago out of the blue with no parents, the entire village took it upon themselves to raise. Making the chief, by proxy, his father. And him, the spoiled chief's son that everyone hated and avoided. So no one disagreed when the prospect of pneunomia could be made readily available for him.

He sighed, the sort of sigh that didn't particularly care if it inhaled afterwards. There were so many stars. Maretti had never noticed how many stars there really were.

With so many other worlds, there must be so many other people. People who cared about one another, people helped the little guy. People who didn't just kill anything that wouldn't kill them.

He wondered what they tasted like.

Fruits, vegtables, bread, there was so much he was missing. At least when he was wondering, the chief couldn't make him sleep anywhere else.
 

Candy Man

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jiraiya-doulifee.jpg


Now, spread the word!!!
 

Candy Man

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Occasionally, strange objects would wash up on the shores of the sea. Most were simply shiny bits of metal.

But Maretti's goggles was stranger than any accessory to a rousing game of Sharpball. Orange was unknown to the Orpins, both color and fruit. Neither of which were helpful in the clubbing of Derkas. (And no, they look absolutely nothing like baby seals. Though the specific origins of the "clubs" has been in question for decades)

First of all, they were made of plastic, which does not exist. And I mean it this time.
Secondly, anyone with bad eyes was used to referee Sharpball. So glasses had been considered a "fashion don't" since the Great Flotsam Find of the late 10s. (when the chief of the Orpins dies, the calender is completely reset and eaten.)
And lastly, but most importantly of all, Maretti had constantly refused to actually put them over his eyes. No one knew why. They just assumed they would suck his soul and body into themselves and then spontaneously combust. For that, they always told him it would give him superpowers, seeing as Derkas are the only know animal with imflammable bones.

OMFG, no plot development!
 
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Candy Man

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I still kinda have writer's block, but at least we to laugh at some more violent Eskimoes.

Maretti shuffled his feet while in line. Since there was only one fire at all times, all the bowls of Pea soup were dished out by one person. The Orpins had decided long ago that simmering up the bodily fluids of the week's kill for 5 days, and then serving it up warm and clotted, was a better use of their limited heat source than cooked meat.

This, however, did not make Pea, Blood, Bile, Urine, Brain Stem Fluid, and More Blood Soup (or "Pea Soup" for short) any more palatible. It was unappetizing and acidic enough to burn through their bone bowls if left unchecked, but it was breakfast.

Even if the Orpins had access to wood, they would go through the gruesome and "fun" process of beating a Derka unconcious with a Club, beating it to death with another Derka, which then spontaneously combusted. Through years of trial and error, the Orpins had discovered that Derkas were the only thing that other Derkas were able to light on fire.

Despite the lack of cooking on Sedna,
(I'm not even counting the soup anymore) the frigid temperature kept meat from spoiling, so no one ever got sick.

This often lead to experimentation with organs that should be saved for a Discovery Channel special. Most notably with the invention of Squishyball, a game played with the blood-filled bladder of a freshly killed Club. Though the game is called Hardball during frostbite temperatures, i.e. always. And this immediately lead to the classic Sharpball after the first shatter-out in Hardball. (Sharpball has always been the Orpin pass time, being basically Dodgeball with a point system)

Dullball was also introduced many years back, but disbanded shortly after with Jim's famous "Too Kind on the Blind" campaign.
 
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Candy Man

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Agreed.

Unfortunately(Oh snap, that was a pun!), there will no updates on the prologue for two weeks.(See community Board-->Gone Two Weeks) However, I will do my best to write down more of this riveting story on my tiny little notepad.
tiny.jpg

See there's me with my tiny little notepad.

So hopefully, there will a large update on the 29th.
 

Candy Man

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There were twenty-two clans in the Orpin Tribe, each distinct and monitored over.
“Maretti.”

Maretti had to be initiated into each individual clan through a their own specific ritual. (presumably made up on the spot)
“Maretti.”

There was the Noric clan, the Credys, The Seven sisters…
“Maretti!”

The Pickers, The House of Huan, and..

Maretti brought his hand to his face as the icy cold pins and needles of his frigid environment were pushed away by waves of stabbing warm concentrations of pure pain. With he realized that the majority of this was centered on his right arm instead of his face. He dumbfoundedly began to turn his head downwards to it, only to be slapped again.

Sati could in no way be described as Maretti’s sister, seeing that she was merely the chief’s daughter. Any offspring of the chief could be easily identified by plain and simple fact that they did not share clone-like similarities of any other child. The global/tribal population was less than 300 people, I’m not going to lie, incest happened. It happened often. Killing absolutely defenseless animals never fills every hour of the day.

This was why Maretti then looked her straight in the eye, as well to avoid another slap. He had found that a very irritated woman would still be cold in the middle of the night. And Sati was prone to yelling in his face. “If you stare off into space one more time, I am not sewing your arm back up.”

He finally looked back down at his arm, which had a very large cut along his forearm. “How did that happen?” she decided this time to painfully flick his forehead. “You’re such a ****ing spazz, you know that?” Absentmindedly, He nodded “yes”. “We were in line. It was your turn to get your Pea Soup. You spaced out again, tripped, and spilt it all over your arm. And now, I am sewing you back up.”

She pulled the string hard enough to cause him even more pain. “Ow!” She sarcastically smiled at him. “Yes Maretti, ‘ow’. That’s what people say when they get hurt. They don’t fall up top of me and go to sleep.“ He hung his head. “I’m sorry.” She finished and tied a small knot where the cut ended. “I do not need apologies, Mary. What I need is a brother I can rely on to not keep up all night worrying about him.”

He licked his thumb and wiped the blood from his arm. “Well, your sleeping patterns have always shied from normalcy.” She abruptly threw his coat into his face. “Get dressed and grab your spear. The Litas are coming back through today.”
 
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